


Queen

by narikalen



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Snow White - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 00:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6031386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narikalen/pseuds/narikalen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was born poor, and had the early misfortune of being beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Queen

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed, all mistakes are mine.

She was born poor. She was born poor, and grew up poor, and had the early misfortune of being beautiful. Being born poor and beautiful was a terrible thing, because it meant that you had value, and when your family is poor, and you have value, do you know what they do to little girls? They sell them.

Her most early years were spent in a dirty hut with 7 other children, a drunkard for a father, and a mother too meek to say no, but too strong to be worked to death like an old horse. When she was little, she didn’t know they were poor; only knew the woods and the rivers and the streams and how fun it was to play with her little brothers and sisters, and to avoid her father at all costs. They were dirty, sure, and hungry too, but the forest had berries, and fruit trees, and really, they were never as hungry as all that.

But when she was four, her luck ran out. Or rather, her father’s luck ran out. His drinking had reached its pinnacle, and the debtors had come a-calling. Of course her father had no money to pay. And of course, any valuable jewels her mother may have once had in her hope chest had long been sold off to fuel her father’s drinking. So he had nothing to his name, but his wife and his children.

The debtors took one look at his wife, and decided she was too old and ugly. They looked at his hut, and decided it wasn’t worth burning. They looked at his children… and they saw her. This grubby-faced little four-year old, with eyes as big and round as the whole of the night. They saw her fair skin, and her soft hands, and decided that she would do as repayment. The last time she saw her parents, her mother was standing at the door wringing her hands, tear-tracks down her cheeks as her other children gathered around her, and her father was inside, drinking himself back into debt.

They sold her to a brothel, because what else would you do with a pretty four-year old girl child? They sold her to a brothel, but because she was so fair, the Madam saw her as an investment instead of a workhorse. So while other girls her age were put to work mending and cooking and cleaning and sewing, she was sat, and bathed, and put to a different sort of work.

Under the strict Madam’s care, she learned the art of music, and conversation, and how to make herself more fair with the cheap makeup that she had available to her. And when the other girls were old enough to be women, to work in the rooms below, pleasuring the working class, she was kept in her gilded cage, away from prying eyes. Madam had her on reserve. Madam had plans for this most fair of small birds, and the classless drunks that frequented her establishment did not fit that bill.

Seldom did the courtiers come through their dirty little village, but on occasion one would, on their way to somewhere else, somewhere more important. So Madam waited until her golden opportunity arose. A courtier, not a very rich or fancy or noble one, but still someone with far more coin on his person than any poor worker in the village would make in a lifetime, a courtier came through their little town.

And Madam arranged it to be so, that she would happen to be in the river bathing as he rode by, her face artfully made up to look fresh and natural, and voice singing beautifully, as many hours of lessons and practice had made it so. Of course, the courtier was enchanted by this simple country girl, and paid court to her and her ‘Mother’. The gifts he lavished on her were more than enough to fulfill Madam’s investment, so when he offered to take her with him to court, Madam was content enough to let her go.

He treated her well enough, she supposed, kept her in a small set of rooms in the village beneath the Lord’s hold where he worked. He gave her a small allowance, and it was understood by the villagers that she was the courtier’s woman, that she was untouchable, and untaintable. Of course the young lads in the village romanticized her, and of course the old men in the village had their lewd thoughts. But she was above that -- above them. Still a bird in a gilded cage, but perhaps this cage, a little larger. This leash, a little longer.

But she had higher ambitions than that, this young girl from a dirt hut. So she prettied herself up, and put herself to work, appearing in the right places at the right time where the Lord himself would be, appearing as sweet and demure and of course, as fair as she could. The Lord never did talk to her much, busy as he was with his business. But he had eyes, and he could look. And did he look, look upon her soft pale skin, and small pursed pink lips, and eyes as big and dark as the night. And in looking, he fell deeply in love with her, this mirage that kept appearing in front of him, this gentle and gorgeous creature who must, of course, be of noble blood, for how could such beauty be common?

So when he summoned her to his keep, and from there into his bed, what could the courtier do? He had lost his heart to the beautiful girl, but the Lord was far more powerful and rich than he. And did the girl do him a good turn, for bringing her so far? Did she speak in the Lord’s ear of his loyal courtier, of how he was a little dull in culture, unlike the Lord, of course, but was bright enough with legal and business matters, and could use a little more land and responsibility, to uphold the Lord’s keep?

She considered it. And then she considered her humble beginnings, and how the courtier knew her as the poor girl who had bathed in the river once when he rode by a dirt-poor village, and she realized that he could never tell. So instead, she told the Lord of the cruel courtier, who kept her hidden away from her family, who had stolen her when she was younger still, and impressionable. She told of how he was mean to her, and beat her when she tried to refuse him to her bed. She told of the squalor in which she was kept, one tiny room with no one to attend to her. And incensed by the treatment of this fair lady who graced his bed, he sent the courtier away, on quest after dangerous quest, until he fain returned. To be certain of his death, the girl had sent a Hunter, paid for by coin in the dark, and unconnected to her fair visage, to ensure that his heart ceased to beat.

In the Lord’s keep, the girl was given the position of lady-in-waiting to his wife. The pretense was cheap, and everyone knew who’s chambers she slept in at night. But the noble Lady had no recourse; who was she to speak against her Lord and husband? They had been married many a year, and she had borne him two living sons and one daughter; he had stopped visiting her bedchamber many years ago. And so she held her tongue, asking only that he cease not his affection for his children, which of course, had never waned.

The girl was well kept, in beautiful dresses and perfumes, as would befit a Lady instead of a girl of her status. She had a private room inside the keep, and slept on a bed lush with warm furs in the winter, and spent her days playing music on new instruments the Lord commissioned for her, or reading books in his massive library. Seldom did she, this little lady-in-waiting, and the Lady cross paths.

The Lord was of a small estate, far from the court of the King. He did not hold much care for the royal head, and seldom went into the heart of the Kingdom. What care had he for the politics of court, for the backstabbing of the peerage, when he could stay at home with his noble wife and fair mistress? But still, he, like all Lords, had his duty to the King, and so when harvest came and passed, the Lord gathered his horses and his men and his gold, and prepared to go to the King's palace.

And instead of bringing his noble wife, who had given him much advice, he chose to take his fair lady with him to court, the next time he would go to the King. So enamoured with her beauty was he, that the Lord did not see her machinations, to ensure that it was she, and not his Lady wife, who would accompany him into the Kingdom.

So enamoured with her beauty was he, he did not see the beautiful silk bodice she had specially commissioned, the color of a soft ripe peach, made of the strongest bone, with the tightest stays. So enamoured with her beauty, he did not see the note that accompanied it sent to his noble Lady, claiming the bodice was from him, as a gesture of his affection. So enamoured, he did not see her delighted blush, her insistence that she wear it that night. And her beauty blinded him such that he did not see her handmaiden, bought off by coin in the dark, tighten, tighten, tighten the stays until the Lady was short of breath, until three small cracking sounds were heard, until she had fainted, and was pronounced too ill to travel with him to court.

And so, in a sturdy carriage, surrounded by guards and followed by his yearly tax, he travelled to the heart of the Kingdom with the fair girl at his side, nestled in a carriage surrounded by furs. When they arrived, they were shown into some small chambers. The Lord would eventually seek audience with the King, but as a lesser Lord, that would not be for some time. In the meanwhile, they were left to their leisure, and to prepare for the upcoming grand feast the King threw each year, as the Lords of the land brought him their taxes. The Lord took advantage of his free time, falconing and spending time in the bars of the city, as Lords are wont to do.

The girl though, the girl was less inclined to simply sit in her chambers, waiting for the Lord to return. Instead, she spent her days wandering the halls of the Palace, until she found the library the King himself best liked. She spent many a warm fall day there, reading of politics and how to run a kingdom. It was there the King first saw her, sitting by the ledge of a window, staring out into the beyond, the gentle afternoon light framing her beautiful face, making her seem more ethereal. So struck was he by her beauty, that he stood there for a long while, simply admiring from afar. Before the young King worked up the courage to speak with her, she stood and left.

Now, this was no simple mistake on her part, that she hadn’t noticed the King. But in her experience with men, she had realized that they often wanted what they couldn’t have. So to add an air of mysteriousness, to make it such that she was different from the Ladies of court who threw themselves at his feet, she walked away, leaving him to trail, and long, and follow behind. And so too was she different from the noble Queen to whom the King was married, young, pregnant and rotund, and in no condition to be seen in court.

The pattern repeated itself for many days hence. The Lord would go out hunting and merry-making, the girl would sit in the library, and the King would stare. On the final night of the Lord’s stay in the heart of the Kingdom, the feast was held. The Lord, thinking nothing of it, brought his mistress in attendance. That night, she had outdone herself, painting her face pale and her eyes mysterious, yet dressed demurely, much quieter than her normal self. And while the Lord was drinking the King’s fine wine, the King himself asked her to dance. Before the evening was through, she had firmly cemented herself in the King’s affections, and he had reckoned to keep her at the Palace, a lady-in-waiting to his wife, the Queen.

What could the Lord do the next day, but leave without her? The King himself demanded her attendance upon him, and the lowly Lord had no say. It was only upon his return to his keep, and learning of his wife’s untimely demise, did he realize the girl’s fickleness. And by then, it was much too late, as the loyal Hunter, hate in his heart for this foolish man, was despatched to ensure that word of her callousness would never reach the ears of the King.

At court, the girl spent the season of winter, lush in furs and warm blankets within the drafty Palace. She spent many a day with the fair Queen, growing closer and closer, deeper into her confidence. And she spent many a night in the bedchamber of the King, as the Queen, round with child, could not do herself. She kept herself beautiful, fresh and young, spending much coin and time on her visage. After all, she knew the King’s heart was easily swayed, and vowed her fair face would be the only one for his eyes.

The girl plotted the winter away, and when the Queen was near birthing, almost ready to burst, the girl presented her Queen with a beautiful comb. She had procured it, she said, from a gypsy in the marketplace. A cheap trinket to be sure, as she had very little money of her own, but her sincerity and affection won the Queen over. She often wore the comb in her black locks. She thought the girl sweet, and young, and innocent. She was wrong.

Shortly before the birth of her child, the Queen fell ill. It was only a little sickness at first, fatigue, nausea, sleeplessness and nightmares. But as she grew closer to birth, the sickness worsened, weakening her body desperately. The court physicians tried their best, but they couldn’t find what it was that made the Queen so ill and so sickly, such that when she went through the arduous process of birthing the new princess, she did not survive beyond giving her small babe a name. During the royal funeral, the Queen was buried with her much-loved comb from the girl still gleaming in her hair.

The King was quick to recover from the passing of his wife. His had been a political marriage, and while he had respected his noble wife and had cared for her in his own way, he had never loved her. And so, when the babe was but scant months old, he married the beautiful girl, his wife’s lady-in-waiting, who seemed so close and comforting.

The new Queen was fair indeed, and talk of her beauty spread throughout the Kingdom, and to other kingdoms hence. But there was something odd about her, the people whispered, something dread in her dark eyes. Her face was serene and calm, and she exuded a Queenly presence. Yet still, there was something there.

The Queen thought she would be content, the wife of a King in a Kingdom most grand. But some dissatisfaction gnawed at her, drew her ire and grew her worry. For she knew that, as she had been a fair face that had captivated the heart of the King, so too could a face fairer than hers steal it away. Each morn and night she stared at the mirror hanging on the wall. Who was fairest then? Who would steal the King’s heart?

But it was not another woman who would steal the King’s heart from her. Each day she watched, as the King grew more distant, his heart drifting further and further from her grip. Now that she was his Queen, he seldom visited her chambers, and while he listened to her counsel, he did not seek it. The Queen was disturbed. She knew that she was the fairest, the most beautiful in all the land. So who was it, then, who held the King’s heart? Who had stolen it from her?

It took many a moon before she realized; he was not slipping from her bedchambers into the bed of another. No. It was the girl-child, the princess his first Queen had borne that had captivated him so. For she was a sweet child, giggling brightly at her father, and the sweetness and innocence in her, so lacking in his new Queen, was what drew the King to her side.

Hatred grew darker in the Queen’s heart, for the girl-child, yes, but for the King as well. He was the one who brought her here, to these cold, empty rooms, and left her bereft. He would make mockery of her beauty, this Queen of his whom all others envied? She would not stand it. And with hatred in her heart, she created an idea.

At night, the King, his Queen and his little princess sat down for an evening meal together. It was one thing the King insisted upon, when there wasn’t a grand feast to be had. He enjoyed it, made him feel like it was the one steady thing in his life. And it was at this everyday dinner that the Queen planned her vengeance, for the way the King had begun to ignore her. She began cooking, pretending to be sweet and coquettish, making a few mistakes here or there. The King indulged her, thinking it sweet that his beautiful wife, who had never been inclined to be domestic, was willing to try something new for the good of their family. He never suspected what she had planned.

Not all the Queen’s meals were terrible, but enough dishes were that the King had learned to swallow down even the most foul, and compliment his young wife. He did not, after all, want to dim her domestic tendencies, or damage her confidence. And in this, the Queen took advantage. One day, many months hence, she created a little applesauce for dessert.

The King ate it heartily, and watched with contentment as his wife fed his little daughter. The applesauce was beautifully presented, a rich golden yellow, and although it had a bit of an odd, bitter taste, the sweetness was stronger, and he had no difficulty consuming his portion. He even chortled when the little princess spit up what was put in her mouth, more intent on wearing the treat than eating it.

He did not suspect that there was anything amiss in his dessert. He did not realize that on this day, of all days, normal and mundane, his Queen would brew a bitter poison and add it to his meal. The King sickened slowly, body becoming weaker and weaker. The Kingdom saw his devoted Queen staying by his bedside, day after day, night after night. So devoted was she that she made his every meal, even going so far as to feed him mouthful by mouthful when he was too weak.

And so the King died with a glad heart, that he had so devoted and fair a Queen. He did not hesitate in handing to her the power of his Kingdom, to be kept safe for his little princess, some day in the future. The Queen finally had her Kingdom.

But what then of the little girl, the princess whom had stolen the King’s heart? The Queen looked at her in disdain, at her pale white skin, at her too-big eyes and black hair. Had the King been ignorant of her, had he laid his attention with his Queen, perhaps she would not have hated the girl child so, not been so envious that her beauty had not kept his eye. But perhaps the Queen’s heart would have hardened regardless, that this little girl child would have an upbringing so soft, so different from her own.

And so she put her to work, the work that the girls in Madam’s brothel did, once upon a time, as she had sat in her gilded cage. She put her to scrubbing, and washing, and mending, always, always to make the Queen’s castle and clothing immaculate. For what else would the princess be good for? After all, the Queen had no intention of giving up her reign when the child came of age. Better for her, too, to fall ill and die.

But she watched. Oh, how she watched the princess. For she, too, knew the power of a pretty face. And as the princess grew, so too did her fairness and kindness shine. Each passing day brought about more sweetness to the girl, and the Queen watched carefully. So each night and morn, she checked her reflection on her silvered glass mirror, that she was the fairest of them all. And when that fated day came, when the fairest face in the Queen’s mirror was no longer her own? Well, of course, she would make good on her investment in herself. The girl would simply go.


End file.
